


Be Alive while I'm Here

by imperfectkreis



Series: Lambert/Aiden fics [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 22:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: Somewhere between Aiden and his annoying habits, conversation tactics, and shitty contracts, Lambert realizes his loneliness.





	Be Alive while I'm Here

Lambert does not realize at first that the raven-haired man is a Witcher.

The first time he sees Aiden, it is from behind, the long, narrow line of his back slightly hunched forward as he sits atop the tavern table, his feet propped on the bench. Lambert cannot see the man’s face, but his brass-bell voice is sharp and resonant, as he converses with the other patrons. 

Aiden’s voice is full of such undisturbed elation, that Lambert would have never taken the man for a mutant, had he not, just then, turned around.

When Aiden turns, his eyes raking over Lambert’s, his smile only widens, “Well met, Wolf.” Wringing his hands in his lap, Aiden excuses himself from his present conversation. He hops down off the table, straightening his gamelson as he approaches Lambert.

Lambert scowls, crossing his arms across his chest. He'd come on account of the Ogre of Ellander. The trail leading him to this seemingly quaint fucking tavern. Unless there is some other monster prowling about, the two witchers must be after the same target. Lambert doesn't like the idea one bit.

Aiden reaches out his hand, offering it to Lambert. That smile of his remains unmoved. Lambert would just as soon slap it off the strange witcher’s face.

“Cat, then,” Lambert comments, after glancing at Aiden’s medallion. He goes so far as to tap the back of Aiden’s hand, making it clear he will not shake it. 

Pulling his hand back, Aiden remains amenable. “I'm Aiden,” he introduces himself, “suppose you're here about the Ogre? Pretty coin, that,” he clicks his tongue. “Hard kill though. I'll manage.”

Lambert hasn't been hired to kill it. In fact, that's very much against his employer’s wishes. Paying a premium to make sure the beast doesn't come to any lasting harm. Crossing his arms over his chest, Lambert makes his position perfectly clear, “I’d like to see you try.”

Aiden cocks his head to one side, loose hair from his ponytail falling across his shoulder. “Easier with two. We can average the payment between us. I don't mind losing a bit of coin for the added safety.”

“I'm not supposed to kill it,” Lambert curses, “and how the fuck you so sure you were offered more?”

Shrugging Aiden only offers, “You actually trained in negotiation?”

“Yeah,” Lambert replies, though he's not sure a couple of off-hand remarks around an open keg counts as training.

Aiden laughs, but it's not as mocking as Lambert expects. “If not kill it, then what?”

“I'm here to lift the curse.”

Tapping his bottom lip, Aiden thinks on it, “What’s your partial rate if it's killed? Faster to kill it.”

Lambert sneers, “I get nothing if it's dead.”

Aiden raises one eyebrow, “Shame. Always takes longer, lifting curses. And sometimes you just want a quick turnaround.” He stretches both hands above his head, yawning loudly as he does. “I've already booked a room for tonight. So I guess you have a head start on it. Good luck, Wolf. See you in the morning. I'm heading to kill the ogre at first light.”

With that, Aiden pats Lambert on the shoulder, turning away and heading towards the tavern rooms.

Well, fuck. Aiden isn't wrong. Working without sleep isn't a problem. But this puts an hourglass on Lambert that he wasn't much expecting. 

\--

Lambert toils through the night, trying to unravel the specifics of the Ogre’s curse. He searches the home of a young maid, who was once said to hold the ogre’s attention, more than a generation ago. The thatch-roof house is little more than a hut, and has been untouched for years. The floor is thick with dust, spiderwebs blanketing the entire expanse of the single room.

He tries to focus, picking up clues to why exactly the ogre would favor this particular girl so strongly. He ends up shredding the mattress, sifting through the mixture of coarse wool and scratchy sawdust. There are bunches of dried lavender inside. He stuffs the brittle blooms into his pack. It's worth a shot.

There's a teacup, too finely painted for the poverty of the house. He takes that too, before he can hear pre-dawn birds chirping in the distance.

Lambert climbs atop his horse, racing towards the ogre’s lair. He has fifteen, maybe twenty minutes lead on Aiden. That should be time enough to lift the curse. 

Lambert’s employer, a wiry man with silver hair and uncalloused hands named Fernbach is supposed to meet him at the entrance of the cave. Lambert hates men like that, who can't leave him alone to do his fucking job.

By the time he arrives at the caverns, there is already a horse tethered just outside the mouth of the largest cave. Lambert can only breathe easily when he recognizes the speckled mare as belonging to Fernbach, though the man himself is nowhere to be seen. Fuck.

He leaves his own horse behind, swallowing down a cat potion before stepping inside the cave. It's not quite pitch dark, and Lambert regrets the brew. There's early sunlight seeping in through gaps in the stone above. Enough that his eyes burn.

Fernbach’s level breathing is easy enough to hear. Blinking away the harsh light, Lambert follows the soft sounds of his employer. He's not in any distress, so Lambert doesn't rush. Better to be quiet than alert the ogre.

“Fernbach?” Lambert says softly, once he's close enough that the man should be able to hear. Startling him could end In disaster. “What are you doing? You were supposed to wait outside.”

Fernbach turns with a start, but manages not to scream, “I wanted to see the beast for myself,” he licks over cracked lips. Fernbach was a professor or something, before his retirement. His mouth was his tool, giving lectures, rather than his hands at labor. “I'd heard, but never seen.”

Lambert rolls his eyes. Nothing worse than a man with a curiosity, but no experience. He'd expected Fernbach to have personal interest in the monster, given how desperately he wanted the curse lifted. But, turns out, he's just a man with too much coin and not enough to do.

“I need you to wait outside. Don't need you getting in the way when I lift the curse.”

“Yes, yes,” Fernbach concedes. “I understand. Only, please, if it still sleeps. I wish to see.”

Lambert isn't about to indulge Fernbach a moment more. He's not being paid enough to be this man’s private tour guide. 

But before he can evict the scholar, Lambert hears boots, soft against the stone floor of the cavern. So light, even with his mutations, he can barely pick up the vibrations. Whoever it is, they're moving fast, each step bringing them closer to the ogre without fail.

Aiden. Has to be.

Fuck.

“Get outside,” Lambert hisses, before taking off to follow the other witcher.

He doesn't--he doesn't know what he’ll do when he catches Aiden. And whatever it is, it won't be quiet. Which means the fucking ogre is going to wake up. Which will make the tenuous process of lifting the curse even more of a pain in Lambert’s ass.

Moving deeper into the cave, he loses the noise of Aiden’s footfall. When he looks for bootprints, he finds none. Fucking Cats. Easier to just follow the sound of the ogre snoring. 

As Lambert gets within twenty meters of the beast, his steps slow to a crawl. The cavern ceiling is high here, and the room near pitch dark. There is a sliver of filtered light up ahead, but not enough to hurt his eyes.

He scans the chamber for signs of Aiden, waiting for the other witcher to make his move. Entirely possible the fucker hopes to take Lambert by surprise once he starts the ritual to lift the curse. For all Lambert knows, Aiden will be able to collect coin on his head, as well as the ogre’s.

Lambert can only wait for so long. On the floor of the cavern, the ogre starts to stir, its breathing coming in fits and starts as it transitions from dreams to wakefulness.

Best hope now is just stopping Aiden from killing the fucking thing. Try coming back later, after the beast has fallen asleep again.

The heavy steps behind Lambert’s back are too loud for a Cat. Which can only mean one thing. Fucking Fernbach. Lambert turns sharply, ready to grab the scholar by the scruff and drag him out if need be.

“Stunn-” Fernbach catches sight of the ogre. And his astonishment is so painfully loud that it wakes the sleeping beauty. Fuck.

“I said get out,” Lambert hisses, trying to shove Fernbach back the way he came.

But the ogre is shockingly fast, pushing up onto its meaty legs. Each lunging step it takes makes Lambert’s teeth rattle in his skull. His first instinct is to reach for silver. But then he doesn't fucking get paid. 

Clenching his teeth, Lambert grabs Fernbach by his doublet, ready to haul him off.

With a long swipe of its arm, the ogre catches Lambert across his back as he retreats. Its nails slice through the leather of his chest piece, but they aren't long or sharp enough to hit anything vital. Still, the smack is enough force to knock Lambert off his feet.

His reflexes are fast enough that he avoids faceplanting into the stone floor. Fernbach though, Fernbach freezes in fear. And Lambert realizes the ogre knows what it's doing. 

Staggering forward another step, the ogre plants its rank foot on Lambert’s arm, pinning him down. The beast reaches for Fernbach with clumsy hands, ready to snap his neck.

A crossbow bolt skips across the air, pinning into the ogre’s neck. Reeling back, the ogre snaps the bolt, tugging it out of hardened flesh. Enough blood spills from the opened artery that is splashes against the ground by the side of Lambert’s head.

“This isn't a petting zoo!” Aiden shouts, emerging from the shadows and darting towards Fernbach. His swords are still sheathed and the ogre still holds Lambert to the floor.

The Cat grabs Fernbach around the waist, ready to drag him away by force. Though perhaps an inopportune moment to notice, Lambert realizes how small Aiden is. Not short. He's of perfectly average height. But he’s slim. Every piece of his armor a shade too large.

But with the mutations, it doesn't matter. He can carry Fernbach easily. And as he barrels towards the mouth of the cave, the ogre follows.

Once the pressure lets up on Lambert’s arm, he realizes the full force of the pain. Broken, surely. Using his good arm to push himself to his feet, Lambert starts in pursuit. 

Aiden, Fernbach, and the ogre make an awful racket, lumbering about the cave. Lambert forces down a Swallow, hoping to mend his arm enough to wield his sword.

“Shit! Shit, stop it!” Aiden yells.

Lambert catches up to the group just in time to watch as Fernbach breaks Aiden’s hold, kicking out wildly, clawing at his arms like a man possessed.

Fernbach’s eyes are wide, his mouth twisted in a smile, as the ogre grabs him around the throat.

And Aiden is just dumb enough to try and pull the idiot back. He fails.

With his employer dead, Lambert has no reason now to bother with the curse. Fuck. He could have used the coin.

The ogre throws Fernbach’s limp body against the wall, his skull opening with a wet crack. It reaches out for Aiden next, but he's too agile to be caught. Dropping low, Aiden slides between the ogre and the wall, coming up behind the creature’s back and drawing silver in one smooth motion. 

“Any objections to killing it now?” Aiden huffs. His hair has come loose, dark strands curling around his neck.

Lambert only groans. This could have gone better. But it also could have gone worse.

\--

Despite the roundabout nature of their partnership, Aiden still offers to split the purse for the ogre with Lambert. Lambert has his pride, but Aiden also gloats about how nice the tavern beds are, and Lambert takes the coin. He needs his armor repaired too.

They walk together to the town blacksmith, Aiden shoving his long fingers into the holes in the back of Lambert’s armor, smiling and joking as they walk. Lambert is pretty fucking sure he's never met a person so unrelentingly cheerful. Much less a witcher. 

“Don't you have better things to do?” Lambert asks. Surely Aiden doesn't plan to spend the rest of the day trotting after him like a stray.

Aiden scoffs, “I have repairs that need tending, too. I may have let you strike the killing blow. But it's not as if I didn’t contribute.”

The blacksmith turns out to be a man of no great skill. But he has the tools and hands to make the repairs that Lambert needs. Mercifully, once Aiden starts talking to the tradesman, he seems to lose all interest in Lambert, carrying on flowing conversation about the local mines and mineral quality. The blacksmith speaks with confidence. But Lambert is fairly sure it's bullshit. 

He leaves Aiden and the blacksmith, hoping to spend the hours it will take to repair his armor in relative peace. Lambert shirks the tavern for now, choosing instead to wander through the tall fields of wheat, just outside the village. He's careful to not bend the crop as he disappears into the field.

The noise of the village doesn't go away. It never really does. The world is really fucking loud. Lambert wishes for quiet. But without his chest piece, he can't stray too far. 

Walking the field, he tries to let the sound of wheat scraping against his body drown out everything else. He finds himself walking around in circles, before emerging on the other side.

He can still see the thatched roofs of the town proper. Can even still hear the blacksmith’s hammer. And Aiden’s brass-bell voice. Smith is probably working on Aiden’s gear first.

Lambert sits in the grass, pulling his pack off his shoulder to rifle through. He pulls out his rations. A bit of bread, dried venison, fresh berries. Could have had a hot meal in the tavern. But that just feels like too much at the moment. It will be easy enough to purchase new rations in town.

When the blacksmith’s hammer stops, Lambert figures it’s time to head back. The sun is already low in the sky, and though it will be hours yet until sunset proper, he should retrieve his armor before the blacksmith settles down to dinner with his family. 

Lambert barely makes it to his feet before Aiden breaks through the wall of wheat. Only his steel sword lies across his back, and bundled up in his arms is Lambert’s armor. “I told Ackman that I’d bring it to you.”

Ackman must be the blacksmith’s name. Lambert had paid upfront, so there is nothing else to discuss. He grabs his armor from Aiden’s arms, starting to pull it on before he realizes there’s no point. He’ll only take it off again once in his tavern room.

“Ackman is going to finish up my sword after supper,” Aiden gestures to behind his back, where is silver sword is missing. “Were you staying in town for the evening? Or heading along the Path?”

Initially, Lambert had thought to stay, assuming Aiden would be moving on. From the looks of it, Aiden will be the one to remain behind in that bed he claims is so fucking comfortable. “I’ll go,” Lambert confirms. 

Aiden claps his hands together, “Just the next town over then? It’s only ninety minutes ride. Might I go with you? Wish to check the notice board. Then I can make it back to Ackman on my own.”

Lambert has been at the end of his patience for quite some time. Only through the fucking kindness of his heart has he not snapped at Aiden already. But a man has his limits, “What the fuck is your problem?”

The smile drops from Aiden’s features. And for the briefest moment, Lambert regrets losing his temper. As unconcerned with decorum as he is, Lambert seldom tries to be deliberately cruel. 

“I'm lonely,” Aiden says with utmost honesty.

Lambert waits for Aiden to continue. But the other witcher remains silent.

“Fine,” Lambert spits. “Do what you want.”

The vulnerability that Aiden has just shown leaves him breathless, his hands shaking as he grips the strap to his pack. 

They trek back to the inn, where both of their horses are stabled. Lambert expects some reproach, or for Aiden to excuse himself, or to resume his cheeky cheerfulness, as if nothing has happened. 

Aiden stays silent as they tackle their horses.

He's silent too as they ride. Half an hour, then an hour. Lambert can see the village before he breaks the silence. It's weight has grown oppressive. He half expects Aiden to lunge for him. Split it throat open in retaliation for being slighted.

“What the fuck is your problem now?” he asks.

There isn't much daylight left now. But most of it gets caught in the amber of Aiden’s eyes. 

Lambert bites his tongue. But when Aiden says nothing, his question slips through his teeth. “Do you know…”

Aiden eyes him with suspicion, waiting for Lambert to finish his question.

“Do you know what color your eyes were, before the Trial?”

Lambert has wanted to ask the same question of a great many witchers. But the only ones he's spent any time with are those at Kaer Morhen. And all of them appear so disgustingly content with their lot in life. Even now, his question tastes vulgar.

Aiden smiles again, and Lambert feels the anxiety he's been carrying unknot inside his chest. He looks away, focusing again on the road, and keeping his mare at a steady gait.

“I'm not certain,” Aiden admits. “But brown, I think. I think they were brown.”

“Mine were blue,” Lambert says without hesitation. But the truth is, year by year, he grows less sure. Like maybe the image he has of himself as a blue-eyed boy was a fever dream.

Once in town, Aiden heads straight for the notice board. Lambert goes to the tavern. If he's lucky, there will still be a room available for the night. If nothing else, he’ll replenish his rations.

As luck would have it, he gets both, along with a warm bowl of stew for dinner. After the conversation-less ride with Aiden, the noise of the tavern is tolerable.

Lambert expects Aiden to come inside, bother him again before returning for his sword. But he finishes his dinner and Aiden is nowhere to be seen. The sun must have set by now.

He tells himself he's not looking for Aiden, when he goes outside. He just has to check on his mare. Make sure she's tightly roped. Has enough feed. But there Aiden is, sitting on the shallow front step of the tavern, his boots flat on the dirt and his ass on the wooden stair.

“There's a contract for drowners,” Aiden waves the parchment, his back still to Lambert. 

“There are always contracts for drowners,” Lambert states the obvious. “Never enough coin in it for one witcher. Definitely not for two.”

There's a smile in Aiden’s voice, “We’ll talk to the contract holder in the morning. If you're not pleased with the fee, we can go our separate ways.”

Aiden doesn't wait for Lambert to answer, hopping up and readying his horse to return to Ackman and his sword.

\--

Lambert waits an hour and a half after sunrise. Basically just twiddling his fucking thumbs in front of the tavern, waiting to see if Aiden shows. But he's not about to wait a minute more.

Aiden is lucky, really, that Lambert can hear his horse coming up the path.

Aiden has the contract shoved in his mouth, both hands free to tug on his leather gloves. When he takes the parchment from between his lips, Lambert gets a glimpse of his teeth. His canines are short, and unnaturally sharp, as if they've been filed down to points.

“You get one chance,” Lambert grumbles as Aiden ties off his horse. In reality, Lambert has already give him a bunch of chances.

“That's all I need,” Aiden assures them.

They meet with the village elder, getting details about the precise drowners they're meant to kill. There's a shallow bog just a mile outside the village. The beasts have already killed their herbalist, who foolishly went to forage. Another healer won't dare take her place, unless the beasts are dealt with.

Lambert merely watches as Aiden works. The other witcher exudes a careful concern that Lambert can't begin to believe is sincere. Reaching out, Aiden cradles the elder’s hand between both of his own, promising to rid the swamp of threats just as soon as possible.

But they must make sure they are thorough, and that will take bombs. And bombs take alchemy supplies. The coin he's offering is close to enough. If he could only spare five more? Aiden smiles at the elder brilliantly. And the elder promises more coin, slipping an advance on payment into Aiden’s palm.

“But you didn't agree to a specific sum,” Lambert argues, once they're out of earshot. 

Aiden presses the coin he's already received into Lambert’s hand. “This is only the advance. He’ll easily pay us double the notice, once all is said and done.”

Lambert scoffs at the suggestion. Aiden has no proof. 

“If I'm wrong, you may take everything,” Aiden promises.

Lambert will hold him to that.

\--

Once they reach the swamp, they spend three-quarters of an hour just counting out how many beasts prowl the area. Lambert counts seven in all. Aiden confirms the count. Seven isn't too bad. They probably won't need the bombs after all. Save for the grapeshot they’ll stuff into the nest.

Before they begin, they oil their swords and start a fire. Easier to burn the bodies after if they already have a pit started. They're camped far enough away that the drowners don't bother them. They're also too dim to run.

“You asked me a question before,” Aiden starts, right as they're getting ready to mount their attack. “Let me ask you one now.”

“Fine,” Lambert concedes. 

Aiden smiles, turning his sword over and over in his hands, “Do you remember where you were born?”

Lambert’s throat goes dry, “Yeah, yeah. I remember my mother, and my father. And our house. I remember.”

That fucking worthless drunk.

“My father would come home in a drunken rage. Beat my mother, then me,” he shakes his head, “and one day, the monsters almost get him, wasted off his ass. But this witcher comes by, saves him by mistake. And my dad promises him anything he wants in payment.”

Aiden should know well enough how the rest of the story goes.

“Do you remember yours?” Lambert finds himself staring at Aiden’s teeth again. His eyes shift to Aiden’s ears. They're perfectly round, peeking through his tied-back hair.

“Not a damn thing,” Aiden admits. “We should get started. These things always take longer than you expect.”

Fighting the drowners turns out to be every bit the slog that Lambert expects. But he has to admit, there's a certain comfort, knowing Aiden as there as well. The other witcher hoots and hollers as he swings his blade. His swordsmanship is messy and loose. Not that it's ineffective, but he leaves himself carelessly open. Drowners aren't smart enough to take advantage, but Lambert is fairly certain that if it came to it, he could best Aiden easily in a sword fight.

By the time they're finished, they smell of muck, sweat, and blood. The cuffs of Aiden’s gambeson are charred, from a sudden backdraft that caught his igni at the wrong moment. 

Laughing, Aiden grabs Lambert’s hands, his muddied face twisted in delight, “That was fun right? I had fun.”

Lambert smiles too. So maybe it wasn't fun exactly. Routine, messy, and it won't pay well, no matter what Aiden says. But he has to admit, fighting with Aiden is enjoyable. Maybe because Lambert gets the smug satisfaction of being better. 

“Now then,” Aiden drops Lambert’s wrists, “Time for the main event. Back to the village.”

\--

Aiden counts out coin from his own pouch, equal to what the elder gave him in advance. He balls it up in his dirtied hand. Lambert has no fucking idea where this is going.

He tells the elder that the drowners are dead. And they only needed one bomb for the nest. The elder ought to get his coin back.

But when Aiden offers to repay the advance, the elder shakes his head. They're good boys, the both of them. Lambert has to hold back his scoff. They're both older than the elder, easily. Though he has to admit, even accounting for the mutations, time has been kind to Aiden’s features. There are crows feet around his eyes, but otherwise, his face maintains a disarming plumpness in his cheeks.

“And a bit more, have them draw you a bath at the tavern. You're caked in it,” reaching out, the elder taps Aiden on his cheek. Aiden thanks him a final time, ready to depart with Lambert.

They don't bother with the tavern, heading to their horses instead. The river twenty minutes north will do just as well for washing. “Count it out, tell me how right I was,” Aiden tosses Lambert the coin pouch, once they're steady on the road.

Lambert checks their takings. Aiden was right. On a contract for fifty crowns, they've walked away with a hundred and fifteen, if he includes the advance.

“How did you know?” Lambert can at least admit when he's been proven wrong.

Aiden shrugs his shoulders, looking straight ahead to the trail. “You have to make them forget that you're different than them,” he explains. “You're a freak, and in the back of their mind, they always know. But deeper still, on a primal level, they know that you could be their son.”

Lambert was among the last submitted to the trials at Kaer Morhen. Aiden can't be much younger. Could even be older. But even though little boys haven't been taken for many years, stories of trickery and torture are still vivid in the minds of men.

“The eyes are the hardest part,” Aiden continues unprompted. “I keep them half closed, look up through my lashes, instead of straight on. Here, look,” 

Lambert turns.

“Ugh,” Aiden waves him off, “too hard to show you on horseback. Once we reach the river.”

It's not until after they've washed and dried themselves that Aiden remembers his promise to show Lambert his trick. They're both naked to the waist, in fresh trousers and damp hair when Aiden tells Lambert to stand. He's barely an inch taller than Aiden.

“Like this,” Aiden says.

Lambert watches intently. 

There's no hiding the color, but when Aiden looks up through dark lashes, it's difficult to detect the narrowness of his pupils. They look rounder, softer.

Lambert suspects his reaction to Aiden’s tricks are taking a slightly different turn, when he grows short of breath and his chest feels like it may burst.

\--

They camp together along the roadside, exchanging stories of contracts past. Aiden laughs a great deal, which is to be expected. Lambert laughs too, which takes him by surprise. But they are clean and the night air is warm. Lambert feels comfortable. Oddly safe.

Aiden calls Lambert “a good man,” though they hardly know one another. When Lambert points this out, Aiden only says that while he has much yet to learn about Lambert, he is certain in his assessment. 

“You didn't have to try and save your employer. Back with the ogre. He was a pain in both our asses. Better to let him die,” Aiden argues. But Lambert can hear the hesitation in his voice.

“You tried to save his life too,” Lambert points out.

The fire is low now. They should both get some rest. 

Aiden stretches out his hand, passing igni over the dying coals. “Never said I didn't. It's possible for more than one good man to exist in the world. Or did no one tell you?”

Lambert smiles, “Guess not.”

\--

In the morning they part, having little reason to continue traveling together. Aiden says they're certain to meet again. And, for some reason, Lambert believes him. Maybe only because he wants the promise to be true.

Another town, another shitty contract. Then a second. A month passes, then two. Work starts to dry up and Lambert grows bored. His mind races, tangling up in anger all over again. He kills a bear for sport. Just to let out his aggression. It only helps for a few days. 

Along the road to Novigrad, Lambert dreams of leading a different life. He's thought about it before, despite all its impossibility. Fuck. He wouldn't even know where to start. 

But it's not a fantasy of leaving his occupation behind. Because he’ll never forget who he is, what he's done. He can't undo the mutations done to him. Instead, he thinks of running away as a boy, not letting the witcher who spared his father take him as payment. He would have run off into the woods, disappeared.

Logically, he knows that wouldn't have worked. Fuck, he knows better than anyone that never would have worked. The witcher would have plucked him out from among the trees like ripe fruit. There would be no escape.

Novigrad is deafening, always has been. But with people comes work. He just needs a lead. Preferably one that takes him back into the countryside. He just needs to kill for coin, before he ends up drunk, splitting open some petty nobleman’s son just because his muscles are too tense from disuse. 

He's standing at the notice board when the hooded figure bumps into him, the stranger’s hands hidden under leather gloves. 

Lambert curses at them, trying to brush the stranger aside, when Aiden shoves at his shoulder, “Fancy meeting you in a place like this.”

Without thinking much of it, Lambert goes to shove down Aiden’s hood, his fingers shifting against Aiden’s soft, dark hair. But Aiden is quicker, grabbing the edges of his hood and keeping it firmly over his head. 

“Not terribly polite of you.”

“Is someone after you?” Lambert asks, realizing his mistake and pulling back his hand.

Aiden shakes his head, “Not as far as I know. But they are starting to target mages here. Nonhumans are being harassed as well. I came here to find work, but I don't much like being stared at. I mean,” Aiden waves his hand with a flourish, “I'm always being stared at. There are just more eyes here.”

Lambert nods, he's used to the looks as well. But he hasn't noticed scrutiny being worse than the last time he was through the city. No doubt that Aiden has been in Novigrad longer, has a better understanding of the situation here. Besides, even if he weren't a witcher, his skin is darker than most northerners. That alone is sure to draw attention.

“Come, I have a room. One where we’ll be unmolested.”

Lambert casts a glance at the notice board, but Aiden assures him he picked up everything of note this morning. There's no point in hanging about.

Aiden leads him out of the square and to the Harborside Gate. They don't exchange words, though Lambert desperately wants to speak. He understands acutely now, what Aiden meant before, about being lonely. He has been lonely, just too proud before to articulate his emptiness to another person.

There's an elf in the doorway of the building, a pretty female with her hair piled high atop her head. Loose strands curl out of the bun, covering her ears. But from her jawline she's unmistakable. From the neighborhood too.

She steps aside to let Aiden in, but stares harshly at Lambert. When their eyes meet, hers soften a touch. 

Aiden takes them to the second floor before pulling off his hooded cape. Tossing it aside onto the bed, he rolls up his sleeves as well. The room is stuffy-hot, even after Aiden unlatches the window and opens it wide. Noise from down below wafts into the attic room.

“I'll ask again,” Lambert starts, because it's as good a place as any, “who is after you?”

“No one,” Aiden drops his hair from the ponytail, gathering it back up and retying it now that his hood is off. “Just you would think in a city so large, people wouldn't gawk like open-mouthed fish.”

“And what's with this hideout?” Lambert looks around the room. It's sparsely furnished, but dense with boxes of junk, piled so tightly that it covers the walls and towers over the single bed.

Aiden shrugs, “It's cheap and they don't ask questions. But you were wondering about a contract.” Aiden dips into his pack, pulling out two sheets of parchment, “I like the one that appears to be a griffin myself. I'm tired of caves.”

Lambert scans the contracts, settling on the one Aiden suspects might be a griffin. Whole sheep gone missing without a trace. Horrible shrieking in the night. Pretty straight-forward as far as requests go. But peasants pay better rates on flying creatures than those land-bound.

“So,” Aiden smiles up at him, “want to come with me? Or you can just take the other contract, if you'd rather not share.”

Lambert realizes this is Aiden’s way of being polite. Maybe trying to atone for his pushiness the last time they met. Handing both contracts back, Lambert says they can do the griffin first. Then the other contract. If they don't find something more lucrative first.

Aiden claps his hands and grabs his swords, before throwing his hood back on. The fabric bunches strangely against his weapons, and without thinking much of it Lambert tries to straighten out the folds so it lies better across the blades.

Aiden’s horse is stabled nearby. Lambert left his at the Seven Cats. When Lambert says he doesn't want to share a mare with Aiden, Aiden resigns himself to leading his horse instead of riding.

“I named her Violet,” Aiden explains, after Lambert comments on his new horse. “I think it's a good name for a horse.”

Lambert doesn't think one way or another about the name. He's never been sentimental about horses. Changes his more often than not.

They make pleasant conversation as they trek to the inn. Aiden has better stories about completed contracts than Lambert does. But Lambert, like any good witcher, knows how to embellish a tale. He calls out Aiden, when he suspects the other man has embellished too much.

Once they're both saddled they start the long ride out to Heddel. 

\--

The village is small. Probably not much coin to go around. But Lambert is willing to believe that if anyone can get these people to pay up, it's Aiden. When the contract holder turns out to be a middle-aged woman, her grandchildren sprinting around her heels, Lambert is certain they'll get paid.

Lambert keeps his mouth shut while Aiden talks. A boy was taken too, strayed up to the foot of the mountain to gather mushrooms for his father. Never came back. The men of the village a few and unaccustomed to fighting. No one has been brave enough to looks for the child’s body.

Their employer takes them to the sheep pens and leaves them to their work. Lambert thinks to ask her for the boy’s father’s name, and where they might find him. She provides the name Dayan and, dragging her granddaughter by her chubby arm, departs.

Aiden and Lambert assess the clues separately. There are few. Lambert finds broken bits of bone in a lump of vomit, tangled in with wool. Aiden feels out scratch marks left on the wooden fence posts. They both recognize the smell of ill-digested flesh.

Dayan isn't much help. But he does tell them that his son has light hair and pale blue eyes. Aiden grabs Lambert’s wrist when he rolls his eyes. In any other case, Lambert would point out that the boy’s eyes are probably gone, pecked out. And blond boys are common enough in the north.

Leaving the town, they head towards the mountain on foot. While the path starts out slowly sloping, it quickly grows steep and rocky. When they reach where the boy was said to be searching for mushrooms, they're already high enough up to get a good view of the clustered huts that make up Heddel. It's such a vulnerable position in the low valley. It's a wonder they haven't been overrun by beasts from the hills already.

Lambert finds a scrap of fabric that may be from the boy’s coat. Hard to tell. There are blond hairs though, ripped out to the follicle and spread out across the ground. Griffins don't leave tracks though, so they both wait in silence, trying to hear its cries.

“Could go back down and bait it with one of the sheep?” Aiden suggests. It's not a bad idea. But there aren't any open clearings. They’ll never get a good shot at the griffin, if they lure it into the woods. Better to fight it in its nest. Less cover. And giffins only nest where there's enough flat space that their chicks don't fall off a ledge.

“Just shut up and listen,” Lambert closes his eyes, trying to pick up on the sound of wings beating. Anything, really. All he hears is Aiden sighing noisily. Probably just to piss Lambert off.

They both hear the griffin at the same time. Aiden is quicker to his feet. He jokes, “Race you there,” but it's only that, a joke. They're both cautious as they try to find a path further up the mountain.

By the time the get within sight of the griffin’s nest, the sun has already begun to set.

“We should wait until it's fully dark. Her belly’s full. She’ll sleep instead of hunt,” Aiden suggests.

Lambert agrees and they retreat for the time being, back to a shallow outcropping they passed earlier. Aiden starts a small fire and they warm their food, eating their supper before preparing for the fight. Aiden drinks a dose of Cat, explaining that while his night vision is fine for a swordfight, he’ll be better with the crossbow with the help.

Once they're ready, they find the griffin sleeping, her wings rising and falling as she breathes. Aiden, in his lighter armor, moves with less noise. Blade drawn, he sneaks in as close as possible, stabbing the slumbering giant sharply once in position.

A single puncture isn't enough to take down an adult griffin, not by a long shot.

Aiden rolls away, sheathing his sword once he’s put enough distance between himself and the monster. 

Lambert readies Axii, holding the sign back until the griffin swoops in close enough for the spell to connect.

Switching to his crossbow, Aiden takes aim, catching the griffin in the left wing with a bolt. The griffin shrieks something horrible, dipping low on its injured wing. Before it can correct its flight pattern, Lambert casts Axii, disorienting the creature further. 

Aiden lets loose two more bolts before the griffin hits the ground. Snapped branches go flying when her heavy weight strikes the nest, sending debris into the air and Lambert’s eyes. Still, he does not hesitate, driving toward the beast with his sword. Aiden signs Axii as well, keeping their advantage.

With the griffin already debilitated, Lambert only needs one, two, three swipes across the back of its neck for her spine to snap. Aiden whoops in triumph when she dies. 

“That was even better than last time,” Aiden shouts. 

Lambert can hear Aiden’s heart racing. His heart is racing too. And for a blinding moment, he wants to pull Aiden into his arms, hold him close until their breathing settles.

Aiden reaches for him first, wrapping his arms around Lambert’s shoulders and hugging him tightly. But just as soon, it's over, Aiden patting him on the back and talking about the trophy. He's had griffins before. Plenty. So has Lambert. They’ll just sell the head and split the profit.

There’s still the matter of the boy. Raking through the nest, they look for any sign of his corpse. There are bones that look to be the right size, but most of the child’s face has been picked clean. The fabric of his jacket remains, and it matches the scrap they found earlier. Aiden carefully cuts a larger slice of the jacket to show to the boy’s father to confirm.

They head back down the mountain, and once the contract is settled, they set course to Oxenfurt. They only make it a handful of miles before deciding to camp for the night. Reaching the city tomorrow is good enough.

Aiden sleeps fitfully, while Lambert waits for the fire to die down. In the low light, Lambert can't help but lean over to watch his companion’s face. Aiden’s mouth twists, he sucks air through his teeth. Between his brows, his forehead wrinkles.

Lambert considers waking him, but all too soon he drifts asleep as well. By the time he rises, Aiden is already packing up his bedroll.

\--

They part ways in Oxenfurt. Aiden hands Lambert the second contract, muttering something about already having his fill of the North.

“What the fuck,” Lambert says, as Aiden’s hooded figure turns to walk away, “I thought we were friends,” he finds himself choking. He means it, too. They're friends, aren't they?

Aiden turns and smiles, and not for the first time, Lambert wants to know more. He wants to know how Aiden smiles so much. How he feels such constant elation, when Lambert feels twisted, festering frustration at his lot in life. He wants to know why his teeth are filed and why he is good with a crossbow but bad with his sword. He wants to know why he's so intent on being at Lambert’s side, only to later run away.

“I'm sure we’ll meet again!” Aiden waves, before returning to his horse.

\--

By the time he sees Aiden outside of White Orchard, Lambert is able to recognize him from behind. 

Astride Violet, Aiden’s hood is down, bunched up around his shoulders and his swords.

Lambert kicks his horse into a cant, to catch up with the other witcher. Aiden turns around at the noise, spurring Violet to three-fourths speed. If not for Aiden’s grin, Lambert might have thought that Aiden was trying to escape, rather than playing a game.

They only chase each other for ten minutes, before taking pity on their horses. Aiden slows down, bringing Violet to a full stop at the crossroads. Sweat sticks to Aiden’s brow, a single bead running down his temple to his neck.

“I thought the Northern Realms didn't suit you?” Lambert says, trying, but failing, to keep his voice light and without accusation. It's only been three weeks since they parted.

“Work suits me,” Aiden admits. “And war makes people afraid.”

True enough. 

Lambert has already decided to forgive Aiden for his last departure. They ride into town together, and Lambert puffs up a bit, as this time he has a good story about a rock troll and a noblewoman’s daughter. 

“And then under her skirt, stuffed into her stockings-” 

Before Lambert can finish, Aiden hushes him. Better to finish the story when they aren't in earshot of so many peasants. 

They check the notice board together, not finding much of note. Drowners, always drowners. But there's also a complaint about a haunted house. There's no offered reward. Doesn't even really look like they're looking for someone to lift the curse. Just bitching into thin air. But Aiden pulls the parchment down.

Aiden finds the widower who posted the notice. He thinks his wife still haunts the family estate. He's since moved into a smaller house in White Orchard, just so he doesn't have to put up with the racket.

Shoving gently at Lambert’s back, Aiden pushes him forward, mouthing, “You try,” and nodding towards the widower.

It takes Lambert a moment to get his bearings. And he's not entirely sure what Aiden expects. Truth be told, he's been trying out some of Aiden’s negotiating tactics himself. But the widower isn't even looking for a witcher.

“We could help, you know? It's not free. But we could help.”

“Not help if you have to pay for it,” the widower argues, rubbing his palms together. “Besides, this house here is fine. Just fine. I don't need the damned estate. Too much work anyway. Blasted thing. Let it rot. I don't give a fuck.”

And then it dawns on Lambert, why Aiden thought it best that he try to negotiate. 

It's not about being nice. Not exactly. Remind them that you could be their son. That's what it takes.

“Yeah, I get you,” Lambert tries. “Can't fucking sleep myself, half the time,” Lambert points to his ears, “Especially in town. People talking at all hours. Drunks and all.”

The widower nods, frowning sagely, “Walls here are thick. But I still hear them from the tavern. When they're stumbling out, sloshed and rowdy.” The man sighs, “That's one thing the old estate had going for it.”

Lambert clicks his tongue, “It's true, that witchers don't work free. But maybe we can work something out. If not, we’ll just be on our way. I like sleeping under the stars anyway.”

That's all it takes to get the widower to bite.

\--

Lifting the curse takes two days of work, even though once they've found the puzzle, Aiden solves it swiftly. Another woman wanted the widower for her own. Meant to drive him into town. Only problem is, she never managed to kill the wife. Curse didn't set in until the wife’s natural death, many decades later.

Aiden lights every candle in the house, sets the table, and tells the ghost he loves her, he won't leave. She sits across from him to dine, eating rations from Aiden’s pack. When they're done, he follows her to the bedroom to lay with her. Lambert is pretty sure you can't fuck a ghost. And when Aiden emerges the next morning, he laughs off the suggestion that he plowed her. Saying they only had to share a bed. 

\--

They're on the way back to town when the ambush hits them. Eight bandits, poorly organized but armed well enough. Aiden reacts first, jumping from his horse and slapping Violet so she runs out of harm’s way. 

Aiden manages to fell one of the attackers before Lambert even draws his sword. But once armed, Lambert’s thrusts are sure, as he beats back two bandits at a time. Aiden rolls away, trying to pop up behind one of the stray bandits. He's lucky the maneuver works.

But then one of the bandits manages to get behind Aiden, who only turns fast enough that his side is split, rather than his throat. Lambert curses under his breath, finishing off both of his targets before running to Aiden’s side.

A little more cautious now, Aiden manages to keep himself out of trouble, killing the man who sliced him with more measured tactics, actually bothering to parry for once.

By the time they are finished with the slaughter, Lambert’s hands are shaking. He never likes murdering humans. Even when they attack first. Whistling for his horse, Lambert tries to calm himself. 

Aiden crouches next to one of the bodies, rifling through his pockets.

Lambert wonders...and then he has to know for sure.

“Aiden?”

“Yes?” he pulls a handful of crowns from the bandit’s pocket.

Lambert clears his throat, “Your school. You take contracts on humans.”

Aiden frowns, “Some. I...don't. Haven't...in a long time. A really long time. And I won't again. Never.”

Lambert has no choice but to take Aiden at his word. And no matter how skilled a manipulator of men, Aiden’s word carries a lot of weight. At least for Lambert.

Aiden is still jittery when they reach White Orchard. Lambert suggests they wait until morning to meet with their employer. 

Each of them takes a room from the innkeep, and at least two mugs of drink to start. When the innkeeper eyes where Aiden bleeds through his shirt, he promises to keep it off the floor.

Lambert makes Aiden down a vial of Swallow before chasing it with ale. Aiden grumbles, but complies. Finished with their first and second drinks, Lambert stands to get a third.

The bar is busy and he has to wait for the keep’s attention, while she tends to the regulars. He nearly loses his patience when she looks him over a fourth time.

By the time he returns to the table, Aiden isn't there. It only takes a second for Lambert to pick out Aiden’s laughter from the cacophony of noise. The other witcher is at the corner table, speaking with two patrons, a man and a woman.

Lambert puts both mugs down, but doesn't know if he should sit or not. If he's been abandoned for better company. 

When Aiden doesn't return, Lambert finally sits, stewing over his drink and eavesdropping on the conversation. They don't discuss anything of note, and Lambert’s attention starts to drift. Aiden asks the locals several questions, what are their occupations? Do they like the town? Have they ever been to Vizima? Can he try his drink?

Lambert concedes Aiden isn't coming back, and drinks his mug too before retiring to his room. It's fine. Lambert doesn't have exclusive access to Aiden’s good nature. He tries to sleep. The room is small but the bed is nice.

He's woken, not fifteen minutes later, by a groan, low and deep. Barely loud enough to break him from his sleep. If not for his mutations, Lambert wouldn't have even heard it through the walls.

“Oh,” pant, “fuck.”

It’s Aiden’s voice.

The bed on the other side of the wall creaks, the frame settling against the floor.

“Be so good for you.”

Aiden must have brought the woman back to his room. Fine. That's fine. Aiden can do what he wants. Only Lambert doesn't want it to intrude on his sleep.

“Get your pants off,” Aiden coaxes, his voice slightly slurred by drink. 

Lambert is still a little drunk as well, from the way his head spins.

Aiden laughs before Lambert hears the second voice.

“I don't-” it's not the woman, it's the man, “know what to do.”

“But you want me, right?” Aiden asks.

Fuck, the room won't stop spinning. Lambert covers his already-closed eyes with his hands, trying to blot out visions that aren't there. Aiden on the other side of the wall. Aiden undressed, with his medallion settled against his sternum, his brown skin lit in moonlight. Lambert cracks his fingers open, confirming the sky is still clear. 

“Gods, yes.”

“I'll show you,” Aiden assures the man, “we’ll go slow.”

Lambert swallows thickly. He couldn't ignore the voices, even if he wanted. It's a dangerous, risky thing. Nordlings can be intolerant. But both of them are keeping quiet. They must know.

The two men are nearly silent for a moment, other than the sound of clothing hitting the floor. The bed creaks again, as they both climb in. Lambert thinks Aiden lies down first, from the soft sound of someone resting their weight on the mattress. The second body is bigger, clumsier.

“Do you ever touch yourself? Inside?”

The other man grunts in the affirmative.

“Like that, with the oil. Open me up first.”

Lambert does not mean to groan. When he does, his hand flies from over his eyes to his mouth instead. It was too loud. 

And from the sudden way Aiden gasps and pauses, Lambert knows for certain that he heard.

“It's okay,” Aiden soothes. And somehow, Lambert knows the words are for him. “I want you.”

Fuck.

Aiden groans again, this time from the fingers sliding into him. It's easy, so easy, for Lambert to imagine himself in the stranger’s place. His calloused digits disappearing into Aiden’s ass, working him open on each stroke.

Lambert is hard inside his smallclothes, aching and feverish. Aiden already knows he's listening. Aiden wants him to listen, maybe. Pulling his knees up, Lambert splays his legs, dragging his hand across his stomach, still uncertain about touching himself. Aiden will hear that too.

“I'm ready for you,” Aiden says, and the mattress moves again. “I want to ride you,” the request is almost a growl.

The other man lies back against the mattress, while Aiden shifts on top of him. Lambert knows the exact moment his cock breaches Aiden, from the way his breath staggers. 

“Hands on my hips like this.”

“Aiden,” Lambert speaks Aiden’s name, loud enough for the other witcher to hear. But not his bedmate.

“Wolf…” Aiden acknowledges. His breath heavy, full of lust.

The man in Aiden’s bed stays mercifully quiet, huffing his breaths but stopping short of words while Aiden rides him, their hips slapping together as Aiden comes back down on his cock.

Lambert doesn't resist any longer, taking his cock in hand and stroking in time to Aiden’s pace. The thrusts up into his hand, thinking of the tight heat of Aiden’s body. Trying to bite back the building rage of this stranger having Aiden. Being able to look at him, to touch.

“Just like that, it feels so good. Touch me, please,” Aiden pants, speeding up their coupling. 

“Aiden, Aiden, Aiden,” Lambert chants. He no longer knows if he's quiet enough. 

“You're doing so well,” Aiden promises, “I'm going to come for you.”

Lambert can't hold back, spilling over his fist. Heart beating wildly as he listens to a stranger grunt and come. Aiden isn't long after, trying to stifle his cry against the pillow, or maybe his partner’s shoulder. Lambert isn't sure.

Aiden whispers to the other man that he should go, before people begin to suspect. The townsman agrees, pulling back on his trousers. Aiden assures him again that he did wonderfully. 

Only after the door clicks closed does Aiden speak again. His voice quiet, muffled through the wall. “I didn't know,” he offers.

Lambert shakes his head, “I--didn't either.”

They don't discuss it further.

\--

In the morning they meet with the contract holder. Lambert takes his crowns with pleasure, splitting them up between himself and Aiden. 

Throwing up his hood, Aiden says they'll meet again. Until then, he hopes Lambert is safe along the Path.

They haven't spoken about last night.

Lambert watches him go.

\--

Lambert means to head in the opposite direction he knows Aiden has taken. And he does, for a whole day, then another half, before turning around, and going after him.

He pushes his horse a bit harder than he should, trying to close the three day gap. Aiden’s route is easy to follow, with Violet’s horseshoes leaving firm tracks in the beaten lane. 

When he's certain he’s within hours of Aiden’s trail, Lambert travels through the night, hoping, perhaps that Aiden has made camp. When he sees the small fire up ahead, he spurs his mount into a gallop, his hands shaking around the reigns. Could be some other traveler. 

But Aiden is still sitting up by the fireside, his swords cared for and his hood up, obscuring his face. He smiles when Lambert dismounts from his horse, admitting, “I hoped you would follow.”

“You're an idiot,” Lambert says, crouching down by the fire. He slips his hand inside Aiden’s hood, cradling his cheek as he draws in close, pressing his lips to Aiden’s. His skin is warm, touched by the fire.

Aiden kisses back with a slow confidence, his lips slightly parted. When Lambert draws away, he sees the wetness on Aiden’s lower lip. Aiden swipes his tongue over just that spot.

“Come with me,” Aiden urges, pushing himself to his feet and offering a hand to Lambert. He throws a blanket over the fire, smothering it out.

Aiden leads him from the road to the tree line, through the grove and up a gently sloping hill, until they break into a clearing. The stars are bright overhead. Another star-drenched evening.

“We’re alone here.”

Lambert doesn't point out the dozen creatures he can already hear. Aiden must sense them too.

“Tell me something…” Lambert will always have more questions, at least when it comes to Aiden. He wants to know everything. “Did you take him to bed….to make me jealous?”

Aiden frowns, shaking his head, “I did not know you were interested. I'm good at reading people but,” he rolls his eyes, “not that good.”

Lambert kisses him again, convinced they've wasted enough time already. Grabbing Lambert by the front of his armor, Aiden drags them both down into the grass. They strip themselves, knowing best how to unfasten their own kits, how each piece is meant to come undone. 

And when Aiden is bare before him, vulnerable, and brilliantly capable of all things, Lambert can admit he's an idiot too. For not knowing how much he wanted this.

“Careful, careful,” Aiden cautions, after Lambert has opened him on three oil-slicked fingers, starting to slide his cock inside. Laying on his back, Aiden’s hair fans out across the grass, catching the water clinging to the blades in the cool of night.

Aiden rocks his hips into Lambert’s thrusts, trying to tug him in the right direction. He is as insistent, beautifully demanding, and self-assured as Lambert expected. Whining out his sincere pleasure and batting at Lambert’s cheek when he gets too rough. Telling Lambert to slow down, they have time yet to spend together.

Lambert thrusts into the tight sheath of Aiden’s body, half-believing that this is a full lie. Some cursed illusion he's fallen into. Because in a way it's very strange, to care so deeply for someone that he fucks. It's not...normally like this.

Lambert has doubted, always, how much his emotions have been dulled. Even when he watches the other witchers, he thinks the mutations are a petty excuse for their own callousness. Maybe, someone, those who recruited them, knew. Knew that they were bitter, ugly things from the start. 

But Aiden is good. Kinder than he should be, to both Lambert and himself. Reaching up, he strokes his fingers against Lambert’s cheek, coaxing him to stay close. 

“Your eyes are beautiful,” Aiden says, craning his neck to kiss at the corner of Lambert’s lashes. The gesture is so ridiculously sentimental, that Lambert breaks into laughter. Aiden laughs too.

Once they've spent, Lambert drags his cock from Aiden’s hole. They lay across the grass, staring up at the stars. The noise doesn't fade, it's always there. But Lambert tries to take comfort in it. 

“You don't need to forgive your father,” Aiden breaks the quiet of the darkness. “It's good to be angry at him but...you should forgive yourself.”

“For the other boys?” Lambert cringes. He can't forget the ones he watched die.

“For the man you are now. You don't have to change, Lambert, but,” Aiden huffs, “You were wronged, we all were. But you are not wrong.”

It's so terribly trite. But Lambert can't help but be comforted by Aiden’s statement.

Aiden turns to his side, laying his hand flat over Lambert’s medallion. And just for a moment, everything around them stands still.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! Comments and kudos are always appreciated 
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


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